Red's House

The house crouches

under walnut and orange trees.

Tall fan palms pierce the sky

beside the gravel driveway.

The farm house is the century-old

bungalow style, with deep-shadowed

porches. It was a cheery yellow

some years ago. Now it is

peeling and faded

to a weak memory.

-This is it, mi casa.

-Very nice, I like all the trees,

I bet it stays cool.

-Yeah, mostly. I run

an old swamp cooler

when I’ve got enough

power to spare.

Red pulls the truck up under

a trellis covered with

ancient climbing roses

that are mostly thorny trunk.

Sparse leaves and a few blossoms.

-Bring your bike up on the porch,

I’ve got a pump if you’ve

got a patch kit. Let’s have glass

of iced tea first. You look parched.

-Thanks, yeah, kinda.

Mack stops at the bottom

of the stairs to the porch.

There are spiders and

humming birds, barbed wire

and helicopters, painted

on the pillars and banisters.

Red looks down from

the top of the stairs.

Faintly smiling.

-Did you expect unicorns

and sunflowers?

-Well, no.

I didn’t really expect anything.

Are you an artist?

-No, I’m a farmer.

But I like to make things.

-Ok, me too. I used to.

-Used to? You can tell me all about it

while we have a glass of tea

and I dress this rabbit.

Mack hauls his bike

up onto the porch

and sinks back on

one of the old couches

lined up against the wall.

The yard below is deeply

shaded by the walnut trees.

Patches of crabgrass surround

the trunks and crawl across

the sandy soil.

The hinges of a screen door

squeal and the door bangs shut

as Red returns with two tall glasses

of tea, the rabbit, a knife,

and a blue-speckled tub.

-I’ve got honey or lemon if you

like it sweeter or sharper.

-This is fine. Thank you.

Red sinks back at the other

end of the couch. Slips the knife

under the skin of the rabbit.

-So tell me Mack, what are you

doing around here?

And what did you mean,

you said you used to like

making things too?

-Oh, furniture mostly.

Not professionally,

maybe I should have,

I sure spent a lot of time

doing it. I enjoyed it

a lot more than my ‘real’ job.

-What was that, if you don’t

mind my asking?

Industrial logistics management.

That’s the glorified title

for it. Basically managing

the parts and tools

for the oil and natural gas

industry. I’m a dinosaur.

Or at least an endangered species.

-Really? Big oil?

What made you get out of it?

Were you fired or quit?

-Kind of both. I was planning

to quit, but they fired me first.

-Well, pardon my lack of tact,

I’ve been told many times

I have no filters, but what are

your feelings about the

fossil fuel industry?

Oh, they’re murderers, thieves

and rapists for sure. I didn’t

think so when I started. I bought

into their whole “we’re researching

environmentally sound solutions”

greenwashing bullshit.

I know, very naive.

Willfully blind? I guess so.

-uh huh, So you came here

from Mars or Pluto? No, more

likely from Uranus.

-oh, most definitely Uranus!

Well, what does that truck

you drive run on?

Vegan toe nail clippings

and lemonade?

Red tosses a lemon slice

at Mack. Yeah, like this one.

He catches it and sucks on it.

squeezes his eyes shut.

She snickers, tries to hide it

as a cough. When he opens

his eyes, he joins her.

Their giggling erupts into

laughter that ends with

a sputter. Both wipe their eyes.

-Actually it’s electric. Didn’t

you notice how quiet it was?

-Where do you get the power?

I didn’t think there was any

of the power grid left out here.

There isn’t. But I have some

scavenged solar panels. Takes

a week to charge the truck and

it’s only enough to go fifty miles or so,

but I don’t need to go even that far

any more. Harmony, our little town,

-what’s left of it- is just up the road.

Red deftly pulls the rabbit’s skin

off the carcass like taking off a glove.

Slits open the abdomen and removes

the organs and drops them all in the tub.

-The raccoons will enjoy this tonight.